Amnesia
by Elandil
Summary: A girl found bleeding out in the streets of an estate after being brutally stabbed. A girl who apparently had Amnesia and remembers only a small bit about the world. A girl without a background, history or presence. And she just so happens to be able to give our favorite consulting detective a run for his money... It seems that Sherlock will not be bored again for a very long time!
1. Chapter 1

Valkyrie was laying flat on her bed, flipping through the memories of her last fight the day before, mentally cringing at all the mistakes she had made. Fighting dimensional shunters, she decided, was not one of her favourite activities. In fact, it was up there with wrestling vampires and killing gods with blasts of black lightning. Not that she had done that in the last 50 years, but still…

Sighing in resignation, she slipped out of her pyjamas, leaving them on the top of her bed for when she got back from what ever god forsaken place Skulduggery was dragging her to this time, and pulled on the black clothes that Ghastly had made her, allowing them to hug her skin with a comforting familiarity. She was just finishing lacing up her boots when a dull ache began to radiate from her left ankle, radiating to the rest of her body. Immediately, she froze, flicking through all her injuries of the fight, trying to think if she might have a wound she hadn't noticed. A block of ice seemed to settle in her stomach as she realised that she didn't… there was only one thing that caused this type of pain anyway.

Quickly, she texted Skulduggery to let him know what was happening, then she just sat back and waited for the pain to reach its peak, there was no use in fighting the pain, or worrying about it, that wasn't going to do anything but waste energy and leave her unbalanced when she arrived in the new dimension. Rather calmly, she took inventory of all the items she had on her.

There was her necromancy ring on her finger where it belonged, and a small dagger hidden in her belt in such a way that meant that only she could pull it out, thanks to the runes etched into the leather. Calmly, she removed her sanctuary ID from her pocket and placed it on top of her folded clothes, she loathed to part with it, but it would only cause problems where ever she was going so it was better to leave the little plastic card behind. In its place, she slipped the little silver disk that worked as a kind of magic credit card connected to her account that would allow her to access her money where ever she was.

Ready, and with the pain reaching a point so that it felt like needles lancing out from her ankle, where she distinctly remembered Aaron Carrow grabbing earlier, she lay back down on the bed, trying to distract herself from her discomfort and to find a good position. When she arrived, she probably wasn't going to be conscious for a little while, so it might be best if she wasn't in a position where she would choke if she was sick.

Leaning back into the soft pillows, she allowed her eyes to fall shut so that she would not have to see the world fade around her, and, instead, she gave one last thought to Skulduggery. He was going to freak when he read the message, but at least she wouldn't be there to see his rant this time. She wondered vaguely if Carrow would even be alive when she got back, or if Lord Vile got to have a little fun this once, but, before that thought could develop much further, the pain closed in, and everything faded away.

0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0oo0

"So it really was just a suicide?"

Irritation flashing through him, Sherlock just turned to sweep dramatically out of the room, only to find John blocking the exit giving him one oh his 'play nice' looks so, instead, Sherlock turned back to Lestrade, trying not to roll his eyes.

"Yes Inspector, I believe that is what I just told you. This case was nothing but a suicide, the victim got in too deep with gambolling and drugs, decided he would rather shoot himself than face his debts. Dull. Ordinary and a waste of my time."

It looked like Lestrade was about to comment on that, and the detective could hear the good doctor sighing behind him like he always did before he launched into one of his lectures about 'being polite to people to avoid hurting their feelings' but, before either of them could reply, they were cut off by the sound of feet running up the stairs in a hurry. As the wooden door was flung open, all three men turned to face a rather flustered looking Sergeant Donovan.

"Sir, we have a problem."

Sherlock did nothing to restrain his eye roll this time. Really, why did she have to say that, there was obviously a problem, seeing as though she had run all the way from the front door, up three flights of stairs, and to the back of the block of flats, at a full on sprint, judging from her accelerated gasps and dilated pupils.

"Honestly, Anderson forgetting which way round to hold a scalpel again is not what I would call a problem!"

Unsurprisingly, his comment was ignored by the two officers in front of him, though he could feel John's glare cutting into the back of his head even from this distance. Still, he was vaguely interested as to what had got the female officer so flustered so, he said nothing for once, and allowed her to finish her explanation.

"Sir, some civilians just came up to grab one of our men, they said that they found a teenage girl in an alleyway just down the road, the think she was stabbed."

The change in the inspector was as immediate as it was obvious. The old police man had always been over protective of other people, a completely unnecessary sentiment in Serlock's eyes, but it was so deeply instilled in the old man' nature that it wouldn't be him without it. This protectiveness, it seemed, was incredibly strong when it came to young girls, as could be seen through the tense set of his jaw and the strange light flickering in his eyes. The detective marvelled for a split second at the sheer depth of emotion his colleague was showing towards a complete stranger, but not long after, Lestrade was running full pelt out of the building and, having nothing better to do, Shelock followed.

It took about 5 minutes for all of them to reach the place where the girl was being treated by the forensics team, all of whom seemed to be rather out of their depth treating a breathing patient which was rather amusing. However, as they drew closer, his eyes were instantly drawn to the victim, his mind soaking in all he could find out about her from the first cursory glance.

Dark hair, fir skin, looked to be of European origin and, judging from the cut of her clothes, was from some money. The clothes themselves were black mainly, with a deep red on the sleeves, all of it with the sheen of high quality leather, but it looked to fit her body like it was made for her, so it either was, or she had worn them often enough for the material to mould to her body shape. Probably the first option as there were no signs of wear on the material.

From her face, he would guess that she was around 18/19 but curiously, she wore no make up. This, coupled with the numerous scars all over her visible skin and the practicality of her clothes suggested that she was a tom boy, more interested in being comfortable than looking good, despite the fact that she was what people like John would call 'classically beautiful'. Again, the multitude of scars and bruising on her collar bones that could be see through the front of her unzipped jacket, would suggest that she was used to fending for her self and fighting… interesting.

It was around this point that he realised that John was talking to him, cutting into his train of thought and disrupting his focus. Damn it, he was just beginning to pick apart this girl.

"Sherlock, I don't think that they need us here, after all, the girl is still alive, I don't think they will need any help when she can tell them who it was that gave her that."

Sherlock followed the doctor's waving hand and saw the blood that was soaking through her crimson shirt underneath her jacket, hard to see at first glance due to the colours being practically the same. Probably done on purpose going on what else he had seen of her character. Did that meant that she knew this was going to happen? She knew that she was going to be fighting tonight, that much was obvious. Turning back to his friend, Sherlock looked the man up and down, taking in his pale face and the edgy way his eyes were flashing from person to person. There was an injured girl on the floor, not 2 feet in front of him, and John was still stood in the same spot as he had been in when they arrived. That wasn't normal.

"John, you are the only one here qualified to work with living patients, so why is it that you are still standing with me when there is an injured girl unconscious over there?"

His words seemed to make the man jump, as though pulling him from his own thoughts. Ah, sweet revenge. But that didn't answer his question, so the thought did not stay long in his mind before it was deleted. When he answered, John refused to look him in the eye… so he was lying then.

"No reason, I just don't think I'm needed, the girl is already swamped with doctors, its not like I'm going to make much of a differ… my god, are those burn marks?"

In his attempt to avoid the detective's probing eyes, it seemed as though he had looked directly at the girl just as one of the forensics team rolled up her top to reveal the wound to her stomach. Interested now, Sherlock looked over and studied the wound. Yes, they were burn marks, it looked as though the blade that had been used to do this was red hot at the time… so the attack was premeditated? Probably, seeing as though she arrived prepared for a fight, a challenge maybe, but then, wouldn't she have taken more precautions, brought someone with her for back up?

Without realising it, Sherlock edged closer to the girl, trying to get a better look at the wound. There was no tears, so it was sharp and, from the width of the cut, thin. But from the shape, it wasn't a knife, the wounded edges meant that it was cylindrical, interesting.

Somehow, he found himself next to Lestrade as the ambulance drove away, a little upset at the loss of his puzzle, Sherlock turned back to the police officer, a strange light flickering behind his eyes.

"Seems like a bad area, first a suicide, then a back alley fight, all in one night. You might want to look into this are more Inspector."

That seemed to bring Lestrade up short as he blinked up at the detective for a few seconds before answering.

"How do you know it was a fight? The guys that examined her thought it was a mugging, she had nothing in her pockets, no bag. Unfortunately, she didn't have any ID either…"

He trailed off there when he noticed the incredulous look being directed at him by the consultant.

"She was dressed for a fight. I'm willing to bet that that jacket gave a lot of protection to her upper body and the trousers to the lower. What bothers me is that there was no hole in the shirt, which means that she must have changed it before passing out, but why do that and not bandage the wound?"

For a moment, the Inspector seemed to contemplate that idea before shrugging slightly.

"Just give it a rest Sherlock. This isn't your case, it isn't any case. As soon as the girl wakes up, she can tell us what happened and everything is over with, simple as that."

Then he walked away, heading back in the general direction of his police car, and Sherlock let him go. No, the girl was not his case, but he got the impression that, soon, she would be.


	2. Chapter 2

Valkyrie really hated hospitals. That was her first thought whenever she woke up in one, something that seemed to happen depressingly often, though it was rather unavoidable given her choice of job… and partner. Still, normally, when she woke up, it was to see her mentor leaning on something, playing with either his gloves, suit or hat (or, more recently, his façade) ready to make fun of whatever situation she had found herself in the middle of before she lost consciousness. True to form, while she was blinking to clear the fuzziness from her vision, she noticed a tall, thin figure over near the door, his back to her.

She was about to call out to ask what had happened _this _time, but something stuck the words in her throat, a small voice whispering in the back of her head telling her to be quiet, though she couldn't remember why at the moment. God her head was buzzing.

As though hearing her move, which should not have been possible as she had barely shifted her weight in the starched sheet, he spun round to face her. Belatedly, she realised that this could not be her partner, seeing as though she had been shunted to a different dimension, but then, why was she in a hospital? Surely you don't take someone to the hospital just because they are passed out in the street right?

"Ah, so you're awake now."

The deep voice of the man snapped her out of her thoughts as she tried not to go into a panic attack. That was not going to help the situation. Instead, she focused her attention on the guy as he stood by the foot of her bed now, looking her up and down as though trying to figure out everything about her just by sight. Well, two could play at that game.

He was tall, that much she had already noticed, with a mess of dark curls on his head and a pale, pinched face. From the way that his skin seemed to be stretched, he looked as though he was someone who frequently forgot to eat, either that, or didn't see eating as important. His strangely sharp, blue/green eyes flashed at her from above the dark bags that suggested he was an insomniac, but the intelligence there could not be ignored. Realising that he was probably waiting for a response, she sent him her best snarky smile before speaking.

"Do you find it entertaining to point out the obvious, or was that just your way of striking up a conversation? If it was the second one, I guess I don't envy your social skills."

She hadn't exactly meant to be so biting in her response, but sarcasm had always been her first response when she was unsure of the situation. Better to be on guard straight away than to let something slip beforehand, that was something she had learned from experience pretty quickly. Still, it didn't seem to upset the man any, in fact, when he looked at her again, he was beaming… it was kind of creepy.

"Irish…not all that far from Dublin, but a small town. Not as strong as when you were younger, probably due to extensive travelling abroad, right?"

For a short moment, Valkyrie could only blink at the man who was beginning to seem more and more like a hyperactive puppy. It was a little confusing at first, of course she realised that he was talking about her accent pretty quickly, but wasn't this meant to be a different dimension… did that mean that she hadn't travelled far from where she had been before, or was this just one that was similar to her own world? Not really sure how to respond, she said the first thing that came into her head.

"And you're English… London upper class, though you try to hide your background going by the effort you put into trying to tone down your diction. Why are we doing this?"

If anything, his smile grew even wider, and he seemed to be on the verge of saying something else when the door he had previously been leaning on opened to reveal two more men. One of them was short and stocky with blond hair and a slight limp in his right leg, and the other was a greying man with the gruff look of an experienced police officer. Both of them were carrying plastic cups that came from hot drink vending machines and seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, but when they caught sight of her sat up in bed, the froze immediately.

Sighing, she rolled her eyes at their reactions, not liking the way that they seemed to be watching her, like she was some animal in a zoo that they had no idea what to do with. Well, she was going to make it pretty clear that they were not to expect any tricks from her. Not yet anyway.

"Yes, I know, I'm awake. I don't need to be told that again thank you very much. Repetition has the annoying habit of being incredibly irritating and completely useless in terms of getting things done."

To her immense pleasure, the surprised looks on the men's faces only grew more pronounced at her words and she had to fight the urge to flip her hair and roll her eyes like she always did when people looked down on her in cases. It was amazing how often people underestimated someone based on their appearance, especially when they looked like an 18 year old girl. When no one seemed inclined to break the silence, the first man looking as though he was fighting to keep a smile off of his face and the other two doing pretty accurate gold fish impressions, she sighed again.

"Yes, I talk too, it's a miracle!"

That seemed to be too much for the tall man by her bed as, after taking one look at the other two's faces, he began to chuckle slightly, the deep sound of it seeming to snap the others out of their daze as they began moving again, hurrying to her bedside.

"It's nice to see you awake miss…?"

Valkyrie had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the patronising tone the old man was using with her, but she couldn't help answering, her response automatic after the number of times she had been asked before.

"Cain."

Well, she hadn't intended to tell the truth here, not yet anyway, but the ringing in her head was getting worse and it was beginning to get a little hard to think. Not that it mattered really, seeing as though it was her taken name and one that couldn't be traced back to anyone, but it was still irritating to slip up like that.

"Well then, Miss Cain, I know you just woke up, but do you mind telling us what you remember about what happened before you passed out in that alley way where we found you?"

Oh yes, she could remember exactly what had happened, not that she was going to tell them, no need to be put in a psychiatric ward for believing in magic, especially when she had no idea about the world she was in now. Instead, she decided to delay to see what information she could get before having to make any definite statements.

"Yeah sure, but isn't it polite to introduce yourself? I have no idea who you three are, and I'm not too sure if I should trust you."

Her request was reasonable, she decided, especially as they must have seen the stab wound on her stomach, from the pain in her abdomen, it was clear that she hadn't healed it properly before, so the trip must have ripped it open once again. For a second, it seemed as though they weren't going to answer, though they should have been expecting her rudeness by now. Still after a short pause, he older man smiled and offered her his hand, obviously deciding that she had a valid point, or thinking that it was probably better to go with it if he wanted any information.

"Ah yes. I am Detective inspector Lestrade from New Scotland Yard, and these are my associates, Dr John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After waking up, the girl seemed perfectly composed and on guard, something that annoyed Sherlock. He didn't want to see her projected persona, he wanted to see who she really was, though it was obvious that she was intelligent from her quips, and from picking up on his past through his speech. That was interesting, he had never seen anyone outside of his family do that before.

The only cracks in her mask came when she introduced herself, giving the name _Cain_ straight away out of habit, and obviously regretting it the second after. Judging from her expression, it was her real name, and she hadn't wanted them to know it… interesting seeing as though she had no idea who they were. Or did she? When Lestrade introduced them, or, more specifically _him, _froze like someone had shocked her, though she tried to cover that up quickly by smiling at the police officer.

Had she recognised his name then? She shouldn't have, he wasn't all that well known, unless you count in criminal circles, so did that mean she was part of London's underworld? No, she was Irish, definitely Irish, and had seemed surprised when she placed his accent in England. It was as though she hadn't been expecting it, though in the middle of London, it was more common than anything. Did she even know she was in London?

Interrupting whatever inane question Lestrade was about to ask, Sherlock jumped straight to the chase, not wanting to waste time with meaningless niceties, though he had noticed that straight out questioning about the wound was not going to work. She had avoided the question the first time, no doubt she would do so again.

"Miss Cain, would you mind telling me where we are?"

Vaguely, he noted that John and Lestrade were sending him questioning looks, but his main focus was on the girl who was staring at the floor in panic. Well, that answered that question. But why would she be unaware of their location? This girl just got more and more interesting. After a second, her confused expression turned to that of frustration.

"I don't know, my head is buzzing too much… I CANT THINK!"

The last bit was a little louder than necessary and made the other two jump, but Sherlock had been expecting it, after all, he knew what he was like to have too much pushing itself around your head that it is impossible to focus on one at a time. It was not a pleasant feeling. Noticing the panicked look that gripped her features, he stepped forwards, grabbing her cold hand and forcing her to look at him.

"First, calm down, take a deep breath and try not to focus on one thought in particular."

She froze when he first took her hand, and he heard the surprised gasp from the men behind him, but he ignored them. He had feigned nice enough times in front of them before, what did it matter that she reminded him of how he was at that age?

Slowly, she took a deep breath and nodded, the panicked light in her eyes drifting away slightly and her gaze regained some of that sharp, crystal clarity that it had held when she stared him down before. Dropping her hand, he took a step away before speaking once again.

"Now, close your eyes."

He waited a second for her to comply, imagining what would help him in that situation. He first thought that she could be faking this, but the panic in her eyes was far too clear to be put on. He didn't remember her chart saying that she had a head injury, but she hadn't been breathing when they found her, could that have something to do with this? Moving that to the side for the present moment, he focused back on the girl, trying to get the information he needed out of her.

"What do you see? What is the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

After this, the girl was still and silent for a long time, her eyes flickering under her eyelids as she flicked through her thoughts clearly. Over to his side, Sherlock noticed Lestrade open his mouth as though he was going to ask something, but with a quick shake of his head, Sherlock signalled for him to be quiet. After a few more seconds anyway, the girl's eyes snapped open again and her face went chalk white, fear clear as day behind her chocolate irises.

"I don't remember anything!"

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter, don't be afraid to drop me a review! And, if anyone feels like Beta-ing, my normal beta decided to give this one a miss, so, any volunteers? Please?**


	3. Chapter 3

Seriously tempted to punch the irritating woman in front of her, Valkyrie slouched back into the pillows of her hospital bed and settled for merely rolling her eyes. This was getting incredibly frustrating, remarkably quickly and she was beginning to regret her decision to fake amnesia, not that she could really change that now.

"Okay, so, what _do _you remember then Stephanie? Anything at all might be able to help us find out more."

She flinched mentally at the use of her given name, but it had taken only a second for her to realise that the name 'Valkyrie' was a little ostentatious and was better left behind. Stephanie was a nice common name, untraceable and forgettable, so, for now, she would have to get used to responding to it again.

Making sure that the female Police officer saw this time, she rolled her eyes once again, making a show of slamming her head back into the flat mattress.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't remember _anything. _Can you send that first guy back in? He was much better at this then you are, and he doesn't ask me the same question every 5 seconds!"

Hmm, apparently sergeant Donovan didn't like Sherlock, going by the look of disgust that had flashed across her face and the way her hands tightened into fists at her side. Understandable really, seeing as though Sherlock Holmes was well known for having the emotional range of a teaspoon and not really caring about the effect his words had on other people. Still, at least he knew how to get things _done, _and she would take being treated like an experiment over being treated like a child any day.

"I'm sorry, but the _freak_ has gone of playing with blood samples, I don't think we would be able to pull him away from his toys right at this moment in time. Why would you want to see him anyway? I can't imagine that he was particularly thoughtful when he spoke to you earlier."

Valkyrie grit her teeth together trying not to come back with some snarky comment that was bound to get her in trouble, but, just before she lost her grip on her tongue, the door opened and a familiar, lanky figure covered in a dark coat swept into the room.

"Actually Donovan, I can imagine that Miss Cain is about two minutes away from trying to knock herself unconscious from the drivel you are spouting. If I may, I think you should just delete the last 15 minutes from your memory if you wish to retain all of your IQ points."

The look on Donovan's face was enough so that Valkyrie had to hide her smirk behind her hand as she let out a few sniggers. Over in the corner, she heard a deep chuckle from the consultant detective, but the police officer didn't look too impressed. Uncovering her mouth, she turned to smile sweetly at the two 'adults' in the room.

"Oh how I wish I could, but the problem is," She broke off, tapping the side of her head comically, "I have an identic memory. Everything I hear, see or read is permanently stored in here. It's enough to drive me mad sometimes."

"Yet now you claim to see suffering from Amnesia."

It was only when he started stalking towards her bed, eyes trained on her own, that she realised the mistake she had made. It was pretty hard to talk her way out of that one, but, thankfully, she had made an excuse for that earlier without even trying to.

"And now you see why I had the panic attack earlier."

She worked to make sure her face was the perfect mask of innocence, forcing her heart rate to remain steady, especially as she was still hooked up to a heart monitor, an annoyance she could have done without, but it would help to prove that she was telling the truth, or so they thought.

"Thanks for talking me down from that by the way. I really don't think hyperventilating would have helped in this situation."

He only nodded slightly in acknowledgement of her thanks, but the only other reaction she got from him was the narrowing of his eyes as he examined her more closely. In the corner of her eye, she vaguely noticed that the irritating police woman had let her mouth fall open in surprise, probably at the fact that he had done something compassionate for once in his life, but she didn't really have time to focus on her. Not with him so close to her.

"Yes, and that is what is so interesting about you. Your file doesn't say anything about any head trauma or brain damage, so why is it that you could lose your memories so completely?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After running the blood samples through all the tests he could think of in the space of 15 minutes, and finding them clean of anything that shouldn't have been there, the detective had rushed back to the room where his newest puzzle was being interrogated by the insufferable Sally Donovan. After having been in that situation himself a few times, he was eager to save the girl from the mind numbing babble of the police, no matter what Lestrade told him.

Once making sure that the girl no longer looked likely to physically attack anyone, Sherlock loomed closer to where she lay in the bed, tracking her every movement so as not to miss any tells. Infuriatingly, she didn't seem to be going to give anything away, other than the name Stephanie Cain and the fact that she was Irish, he hadn't been able to find out anything more that could be useful.

When he asked the last question however, her gaze flickered to the ground for a second, breaking the eye contact she had been carefully keeping up since he had entered the room again. So she was lying, or at least trying to think up a convincing story to tell. Curiously, even though he was applying more pressure on her in the situation, her pulse seemed to be constant and steady… so she was used to being in high stress situations…

Eventually, she looked back up, meeting his eyes with a small smile and a shrug of her shoulders.

"No idea. Normally, I can see everything, it's like pictures in my head that I can bring back at any second if I want to, but, well, now they're just gone. It feels like someone snuck in and messed everything up, like it's still there, but I just can't find it… if that makes any sense at all?"

She trailed off at the end, her face beginning to look apologetic as she subconsciously seemed to shrink back into herself. So this was a topic she didn't want to talk about, either she had spoken of it before and it had been received badly, or she was used to having to know everything that was going on. Probably the first, seeing as though Sherlock himself had a memory similar to that.

Trying to lower her guard a little more, he sent her a kind smile back, or what he hoped was one, his mind was running with all the different possibilities that could have led to this situation, and all the probabilities that would have brought the girl to him. He was beginning to feel like he should have brought John back with him, then he wouldn't have to worry about the niceties, still, it was too late to worry about that now.

"So, what you are saying, is that you do have your memories there, but you just can't access them?" He paused just long enough to see her nod in answer before lowering himself to sit on the blanket next to her as he carried on speaking. "Then allow me to try something. Close your eyes."

For a moment, he thought that she wasn't going to object and refuse with him so close to her, but, after a moment's hesitation, she complied. Placing a thumb over each eyelid gently, he felt her stiffen under his touch, but she made no over move to react, so he carried on, ignoring the spluttered noises of protest coming from Donovan as simple background noise.

"Now, picture yourself in the place where all your memories are stored in your mind. Can you see it?"

Another second's pause before she nodded slowly, he could feel her eyes flickering under his thumbs and he pulled back a little, so that he was still touching her, but without applying any pressure to them.

"Okay. Try and walk up to one of them, see if you can get access to it. What happens?"

Again there was a pause as she squeezed her eyes tighter shut, as though trying to force herself to remember, but, after a while, she just sighed and shook her head slightly.

"Can't get close to it, there's something blocking me, like a wall in the way."

A range of possibilities flickered through Sherlock's mind at that, what the girl, Stephanie, was describing sounded a lot like patients who suffered from amnesia brought on by emotional trauma. For her, that could be the case, images of the burn marks around the wound sprung to mind at that. Whoever had inflicted the injury wasn't trying to kill her, it was more like torture, so it was entirely possible, but there was that flicker with her eyes earlier. Was she telling the truth, or was she just an incredibly good actress?

"Do you think there might be any weak points in the wall? Anywhere where you may be able to get through it?"

That was the technique normally used when in these sorts of situations right? If it was due to trauma, then there had to be a weak point somewhere, a small indicator of what had happened to her. But, again, if she was simply acting, this may be a place to catch her out.

There was a longer pause this time, and he could see her biting her lip as she seemed to follow his instructions in her mind. Eventually, her whole figure went rigid as she tensed beneath his hands.

"I-I think there is. Just give me a second. Don't say anything, I need to concentrate on this. Can you back off a little?"

Complying with her wishes, he shuffled back on the bed, letting go of her face so that he was able to better see her expression. Over on his right, he saw Donovan edge forwards, intrigued by what was happening, her shock momentarily forgotten.

For a while, it seemed as though the girl had fallen asleep again she was so still, but her breathing was coming in increasingly sharper pants and she leaned forwards slightly before doubling over and letting out a sharp cry of pain. Immediately jumping forwards, he pushed her back so that she was laying on the bed, noticing how her skin seemed far too warm beneath his fingers, and vaguely registering that the heart rate monitor had sped up a little.

From her reaction, there was definitely something there, even trained actors couldn't control their body like that, but from the ragged panting coming from her lips, it was clear whatever it was, it was hurting her immensely. Trying to prevent her from going into another panic attack, he rubbed her arm soothingly, noting that her eyes had flashed open and she was staring holes in the ceiling tiles.

"What was it? What did you see?"

His words came out a little me frantic than he had intended, but, to be honest, he had not been expecting such an intense reaction, and it had managed to catch him off guard. As if to further his surprise however, she only shook her head, gasping slightly as she tried to speak.

"Didn't. See. Anything. Just Pain. Like Burning. And a n-name."

A name? Was it like how she managed to tell them her name out of habit rather than through memory? Or could it be the one who did this to her? Leaning forwards once again, he allowed his curiosity to take control, and he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly.

"What name? Who is it?"

At his words, her face paled considerably, and her breathing stuttered. Probably the one who attacked her then, and she was still scared of him. Or could there be another explanation? A dead friend perhaps? But no, she had said it came with pain… His thoughts stopped abruptly however, at the next word to leave her mouth, freezing in place when he recognised it.

"Moriarty."

Moriarty, the cabbie's patron. Well, wasn't this getting interesting?


	4. Chapter 4

She had no idea why she did it, but, at the moment, she knew that she was probably better of sticking with something she knew in this place, if only vaguely, and, to be perfectly honest, she wanted to spend more time with the great consulting detective that was Sherlock Holmes, which is what led to that specific name falling from her lips like a lead weight. Still it was a bit of a gamble, she wasn't sure how much he knew of the villain at the moment but, from what she remembered, he had appeared not all that long after Dr Watson had joined the sociopath, and the two of them had seemed pretty close when they interacted before…

Her gamble was rewarded however, when the detective immediately went rigid, his spine snapping straight from the crouch he had been in before. Then, in a movement so fast that she almost missed it, he span to face her once again, fixing her with that pale gaze that made her feel like he was looking straight through her and into her mind. It was more than a little uncomfortable, but she had been through worse.

"Sooo… you've heard of him them?"

Mentally, she thanked Skulduggery for forcing her to improve on her acting skills so that she could now appear completely relaxed and only vaguely interested outwardly while she was still so off balance inside her mind. After all, she was still trying o get over the shock of meeting her best friend's fictional hero, emphasis on the _fictional. _What a sad commentary on her life however, that this was not the strangest thing to ever happen to her… unfortunately.

The fever and fit when she 'remembered' Moriarty had been easy enough to fake, and it was something she had done before, which helped. All she needed to do was channel the flame she normally held in a palm, over her skin, the force of concentration that was needed to make sure that it heated and didn't burn was enough to raise her heart beat and, annoyingly, she had been in crippling pain enough times to know how she reacted to the situation. She didn't want to think about how she knew what trauma patients were like when forcing themselves to remember something…

So, in a world of science where magic was little more than a fantasy, she should have solidly established her alibi in a way that could not be disputed, even by the great Sherlock Holmes with his legendary powers of deduction. Even if he was still staring at her in a way that made him look like he wanted to pick her apart, slowly and painfully. Still, at least she had his attention now, for better or for worse only time could tell…

"What do you know of him?"

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't register the words at first, she only sat there looking at him blankly, still panting slightly as she pretended to let the pain shake through her body in small after shocks. Unfortunately, he seemed to be in one of his infamous impatient moods as it only took a few seconds for him to stride forwards and grab her shoulder tight. Instinctively, her own flew up to clutch his wrists, but his hold on her was firm.

"What do you know of Moriarty."

For once, she didn't have to fake the look of fear that flashed across her face, though she fully understood where he was coming from seeing as how that was how she would react if someone mentioned Malevolent to her, but his grip was getting uncomfortably tight and there was a decidedly manic look in the grey eyes that were suddenly far too close to hers. Thankfully, the female officer that had been so annoying before was still in the room, and, one panicked look in her direction was enough to have the terrified detective removed from her personal space and forced from the room despite his complaints.

Once he was gone, she waited for her pulse to slow, falling back into her pillows as she mentally berated herself for stepping on such an obvious landmine. When he breathing had evened out and she had run out of variations of the word 'idiot' to call herself, she turned back to the woman who was watching her with concerned eyes. Irritatingly, smugness seemed to bleed from her figure as she stepped towards where Valkyrie lay on the bed.

"I did tell you he was a freak. He only cares about the puzzle of the crime, not the people concerned."

Annoyed by her tone of voice and gloating expression, the mage turned to the 'older' woman, making sure that she felt the full force of her glare normally reserved for opponents in a fight, or a certain skeleton when he was beginning to get far to narcissistic for his own good.

"Leave off him. He's scared. That's all."

That brought Donovan up short, obviously she had expected Valkyrie to agree with her and join in the criticism. Oh well, what a pity, never mind. Still, the shocked look on her face was almost amusing.

"What do you mean _scared? _The freak doesn't _get _scared, he's not human enough to feel any emotions like that!"

Hmm, that sounded a lot like what Skulduggery had said about the reflection, and look how well that worked out in the end. Sighing, and feeling like she was talking to a 4 year old, she leaned forwards to look the police officer in the eye as she spoke, using her _how do you not get this _voice to explain the facts as she saw them.

"His pupil's were dilated, he was breathing heavily, and I took his pulse when I grabbed his wrist. It was far to fast to be normal. His hold was tight, but he didn't try and hurt me, and his hand trembled slightly despite the grip on my shoulders. Conclusion, he was scared. He has a right to be. Moriarty is not to be messed with."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Even though he had been thrown from the room, Sherlock had been able to linger in the hallway so he had heard the girl's deduction, and the statement at the end before he stormed off to look for John. As amusing as it was to hear Donovan being put in her place by a minor (Stephanie had told them she was 17, probably) the girl using his own tricks against him was something he hadn't been expecting, and he could have done without having that horrid feeling in the pit of his stomach named. If this was fear, he was pretty sure he didn't like it.

Still, this changed everything. If the girl had something to do with Moriarty, it would not be safe to let her wander the streets of London on her own, her body would probably be found about 10 minutes after she was released from the hospital, and there was no way he was letting such a vital puzzle piece out of his sight. No. He needed to keep her close, to examine how she reacted to ordinary, everyday occurrences if nothing else. Did Mrs Hudson have a tenant for the basement flat yet? He would have to ask John later, he would know.

While he was lost in his own thoughts, his feet had carried him to the room where Lestrade and the army doctor were sitting, looking over the girl's file once again as they drank coffee and chatted. They had been doing this for the last hour since she had woken up and they had decided that it would be better to have Donovan look for information. Stupid plan. The girl was far too intelligent for the officer to get what they needed out of her, any information she brought back would either have been useless of fake. Not to mention it looked like the girl was about to attack something out of irritation when he stepped in.

"…Sherlock?"

The sound of his name snapped him out of his thoughts and he noticed the way the other two was looking at him. Must have asked him a question he hadn't heard.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you found anything? You've been gone a long time."

Had he? Oh yes, he had been down in the lab checking blood samples before going to the girl's room, not that he had expected to find anything, he just needed to get away from the stupid in the room for a little while.

Fixing his eyes only on John, he sighed and rattled of a list of deductions he had made about her so far, starting from the beginning as he had not had a chance to go that far back yet.

"Irish, from a small town, but she's from money going by her clothes. Ring on her left hand indicates that she is either married or engaged, and has been there for a long time seeing as though she seems to forget it is there most of the time, though it is worn and not cleaned often, so probably not anything as serious as marriage, especially considering her age. "

"Smart, and perceptive too. She picked up on my background just from my speaking once. Probably in a business where she needs people to trust her, seeing as she is so used to giving her name that she did it instinctively, which is why she remembered it. I would say Police, going by her bearing and manner, but something is off about that, and she is too young anyway, so something else, something that requires her to have good combat skills and fast reactions."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes when he noticed them staring at him wide eyed and opened eyes. Obviously he needed to explain _that_ too. Honestly, wasn't all of this just obvious?

"I tested her, grabbed her shoulders without warning and she reacted instantly, shifting her weight and grabbing my wrists tightly, but she relaxed as soon as she realised that I hadn't aimed for any spot that could harm her."

"I tested her amnesia as well. Going from the file, as I'm sure you are aware, there is no reason for any memory loss, but it seems to have been brought on by trauma that she didn't want to remember, though it isn't that bad as, when I encouraged her to push at it, she remembered something."

"That's all for now, come along John, we need to have a little chat with Mrs Hudson on an urgent matter that really can't wait."

He was out of the door before he had even finished speaking, not bothering to check that the doctor was following him. He would be. He always did.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Alone in a dark room, the man without a face sat in front of a small screen and, as he watched what was going on in front of him, Moriarty couldn't help but smile to himself.

At first, when he had placed staff at St Bart's hospital, it had merely been a precaution so that he could make sure that his games didn't break Sherlock before he was finished with the detective, but now, now he was thankful that it had found him a new toy.

Yes, definitely Irish in origin, probably Haggard by the inflection in her words, and that was interesting. Not many people knew, but that small village was where he had spent many of his childhood years, and he couldn't remember a Cain family. He would probably have to falsify one to keep the detective's idiotic brother out of the game, but that wouldn't be all that hard, and it wasn't even the real point.

Once his focus had been on the brilliant consulting genius, but now, the girl was becoming more and more interesting. Amnesia from trauma, understandable as she looked as though she had been tortured, but how had she remembered his name? He didn't remember ordering this, so then, how had she heard it?

She claimed to have amnesia, but had given her name without pause.

She sounded as though she was from his home town, but couldn't possibly be.

She had the eyes of an experienced soldier, but she was far too young.

The girl was a puzzle, that much was for certain, and, if there was ever one thing that James Moriarty could never resist, it was a good challenge.

Pulling away from the screen, he flipped open his phone and dialled the well-used number of his favourite lackey. After all, who could afford to waste time when there was finally something _fun _going on?


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock Holmes, the world's most famous fictional detective, and her best friend's idol, was tap dancing across Valkyrie's last good nerve. Ever since she had been submerged into the world of magic at the age of 12 after her Uncle's murder, she had hated it when people tried to look out for her and protect her. As Skulduggery once said, she was an elemental mage also capable of using necromancer arts and trained by some of the best fighters in the world. She _was _a weapon, not a child, and she did not need to be coddled like this.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

The flat they were currently standing in, although small and a little damp, was a really charming place, especially compared to some of the hovels she had been forced to stay in when on a case with her partner over the years, and on missions for the dead men. The Land lady, who was currently standing by the door way with a motherly expression on her worn face even as her new tenant yelled her heart out, was an absolute dear, and, to be perfectly honest, it was a much better situation than any she could have hoped for had she been sent anywhere else. Still, the entire notion that she had to be here so that Watson and Holmes could keep an eye on her was infuriating.

Speaking of irritations…

Sherlock was currently leaning on the door way that lead to the kitchen, the same spot he had assumed when they had pushed her through the front door after manhandling her into a taxi and dragging her across half of London to Baker Street. Even though she was sending a full out glare at him, he didn't even flinch and just kept on staring at her as though she was the most interesting thing in the room, though, knowing his personality, she probably was.

Over in the armchair by the window in the other room, she could just see that John was watching her nervously, his hand kept flexing at his side where he probably used to have his gun holstered when he was in the army. Obviously he saw her as a threat to Sherlock. Yeah, she should probably have put the knife down before she started yelling at the detective. Still, it didn't seem to faze him in the slightest as he only raised and eye brow imperiously.

"You don't like the flat?"

Oh, now that was _not _playing fair. With Mrs Hudson within hearing distance of their, admittedly too loud, conversation, politeness made it so that her hands were tied on the matter. She really did not want to upset the nice old lady she had only just met, so she had to disagree with his statement, thereby decreasing the grounds she had for refusing to live in the place. Going by the smug look on his face, he probably knew all this, and was finding it all very amusing. Brat.

"No, it's lovely, but that's not…"

"Then I see no reason for you to object to this place. After all, where else have you to go?"

The bastard had her there and he knew it, more's the pity. When he phrased the argument like that, she really couldn't object. What could she say, I will go live out on the streets? Yes, that was sure to go down well with the Police officer in the other room, and the Army doctor beside him. She had lost, and she knew it.

Deciding that there was no point in staying in the room any longer than necessary now that she was being forced to take the flat, she turned and stormed in the direction of her room wanting to get away from the infuriatingly self-satisfied detective and his lackeys, but, just as she reached the door, she caught sight of his smirk reflected in the glass, and, losing it for a moment, she turned back and launched the knife so that it was lodged into the wooden door frame about a cm to the left of his head.

"I do _not _need to be protected like I am a child. You would do well to remember that."

And with that, she slammed the door shut behind her, basking in the satisfaction of seeing the detective look slightly rattled and completely white faced.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It had been a bit of a shock when the girl had thrown the knife at him, he did not think that he had irritated her that much, but, judging from the steady expression on her face when it landed so close to his head, she had meant to hit where she did. How she had aimed in the split second between her turning and the blade leaving her hand, he didn't know, but she had been trained with throwing knives, or was very experienced with them at least.

Noting the worried look on Lestrade's face, Sherlock sighed and walked back into the sitting room, flopping onto the couch and shrugging to show the detective inspector that he was fine and the girl did not need to be arrested for assault. Not that that assured him much as the worry in his eyes turned instead to a cold anger that, compared to the sheer fury in the girl's face, was actually quite funny.

"Relax, that was just a warning. If she had wanted to hit me with that knife, she would have, and she wouldn't have aimed for my head either."

That comment only drew confused glances in his direction, to which he sighed and shrugged. John, at least, would force it out of him later, so he might as well explain now and save all the irritatingly obvious attempts to trick him.

"She didn't falter even once when the blade left her hand, which means that she meant to throw it, it wasn't just her losing her grip or forgetting about it, further proved by the fact that it had enough power behind it to actually stick into the wood the way it is now. Also, when it neared my face, not even her breathing changed, which means it hit its mark proving that she didn't want it to hit me, just to scare me. And the fact that she aimed so close to my body when there was a police officer in the other room means that she was confident that she wouldn't miss her mark. If I had to guess, I would say she had been trained with throwing knives in the past."

"Still, she shouldn't have thrown such a dangerous object at someone, especially as you were only trying to help her…"

He rolled his eyes at Lestrade's weak protest. How on earth did no one make these connections? It really wasn't all that hard if you only _looked. _Once quick glance to his left however, showed his flat mate with a thoughtful look on his face. Interesting.

"John?"

The word seemed to bring the doctor out of his thoughts as he jumped slightly and looked around in confusion, obviously he had not been paying attention to the people around him. How disappointing.

"What are you thinking?"

For a second, it looked like he wouldn't answer, but, after his eyes had darted around the room and checked that the girl's bedroom door was securely shut, he leaned forwards.

"Well, it's just her reaction, I've seen people act like that before back in the field hospitals. She probably thinks that, by trying to look after her, we are actually looking down on her and treating her like a child. I can understand that, after all, I felt the same when everyone was fussing over my shoulder, but, it's just, the heat of her reaction, something just seems off is all."

Well, it looked like John was learning after all. It had taken a split second for Sherlock to notice that Stephanie's ire was not aimed at the fact that she had been found a flat to stay in, rather, she had been perfectly fine with that, it was the talk about protecting her that brought on the, for lack of a better word, temper tantrum. She responded violently to being looked after, which meant that, in the past, she must have been in some pretty bad situations where she was forced to look after herself, and possibly others, or it could just be that she valued independence highly for some reason. A concept that wasn't actually all that foreign to him, but he did not have enough data to decide either way.

"Interesting that you mentioned seeing that kind of reaction back in Afghanistan. Now that I've seen her move when she forgets to be conscious of her actions, she does have a kind of military bearing. She moves as though she is ready for a fight. I will have to ask Mycroft about something, but I think I may know what her occupation was before she lost her memories."

Secret service, it had to be. It would explain the torture, the bearing, clothing, the way she had no source of identification on her when she was found. Of course she wouldn't, it would be far too risky to have held anything like that. It also explained why she was so touchy about being forced to stay in one place for so long and why she had been so cautious until she lost her temper. A blank book . Yes, he really needed to speak to his brother, unfortunately.

"Wait, you mean, you wound her up like that just so you could get her to lower her guard?"

Lestrade's disbelieving tone was tinged with a long suffering anger that was always there when he talked to Sherlock and it made the detective feel like grinning. Instead, he shot a smug look at the detective in a way he knew would irritate the older man, tough only slightly.

"I guessed that she would not take the news well going from what I saw of her personality in the hospital, which is why I volunteered to be the one to inform her of the arrangement. I did not, however, expect her to get that emotional. I thought she had more sense than that."

"Sherlock! You shouldn't play with people like that."

Ah, Mrs Hudson, he forgot that she was still in the room. One look over at her showed that she was fine with everything that had just gone on, but it must have raised some unpleasant memories, even if she wasn't thinking about them right now. Probably best to distract her in some way.

"How about some tea Mrs Hudson, I believe that DI Lestrade may need something to settle his nerves after that experience, and, perhaps you new tenant would appreciate some as well?"

"Just this once dear, but you need to remember, I am not your house keeper!"

So she said, but he did not miss the relieved look she shot him as she bustled out of the room and towards her own part of the building. Still, she had seemed to be happy enough to have found someone to let the basement flat to, she had hated having it empty as it made her feel more than a little uneasy, and it would be good for her to have another female in the house.

At least for them, it would be interesting to see how Stephanie Cain reacted to being mothered by their land lady for the next few weeks. It might make for quite an entertaining experiment.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Nodding to himself, Jim slowly closed the lid of the laptop in front of him. So Sherlock had taken the girl into Baker street with him to keep her safe. Well, at least that would make things easier for him as he watched the detective anyway. He would not have to set up many more cameras to keep an eye on the new puzzle.

He had finished setting up a fake background for the girl, a family with a younger sister, primary and secondary schools plus college (it did not seem too unbelievable that the girl had finished a year earlier than normal given her observation skills earlier) and countless detentions with various teachers, and even a few archery contests. His drone in the hospital had found the callouses on her right hand from the bow string. Now all that was left was to draw her out into the open and see what she could do. Thankfully, he had already been planning something for that with the consultant detective, having 2 puppets to watch dance would not affect anything but his own amusement.

Smiling to himself, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the phone he used for private business, the phone that only had one contact in it.

"Moran, tell the Black Lotus that they can go hunting for their thief now, I have no desire to keep them held back any longer, it is beginning to get immensely dull."


	6. Chapter 6

2 weeks she had been there. 2 weeks and she was already getting impatient for this thing to be over. The last time Valkyrie had been shunted, she had stayed there for about a week in total, and she was beginning to get more than a little uncomfortable. When would she be able to go home?

Still, to say that she wasn't enjoying her time at Baker Street would be a lie, it was nice to sit back and have a break every now and then, and with Shelock Holmes in the building, there was always something fun going on. Although, the detective did have his quirks, as she found when she was woken up at around 3 am to the sound of gunfire in the flat above. Acting reflexively, she had hurried up to check that everything was alright, only to be told that he was bored. That had not ended well.

Now however, she was laying in her chair, head hanging over the seat and feet pointing up at the ceiling as she waited for _something _to happen. She had never had to sit still for this long before, well, not in a long time anyway, and it was making her fidgety. At one point, she had even been bored enough to take Mrs Hudson up on the offer to come over to tea, where she worked out that the kindly old lady must have had an experience with drugs at some point in her life. Probably a dealer from the way she handled the knife… or something similar.

Finally, when she felt that the boredom was about to drive her absolutely mental, she heard a soft nock on the door to her flat. 2 knocks. Evenly spaced and sharply in the exact same spot. John then.

"It's open."

She called out, not feeling much like leaving her position on the chair, she had finally managed to become comfortable like that after pacing for the last 20 minutes, ignoring the flow of blood to her head obviously.

"Steph, Sherlock and I are going to the ba… what are you doing?"

By then, he had wandered around to stand by the back wall of the room so that he could see her clearly and was shooting her a strange look. Honestly, this was a man who had to put up with the eccentricities of the Holmes brothers on a daily basis, how was someone sitting upside down on a chair strange in comparison to that? Sighing, she let her legs drop anyway, rolling off of the chair forwards and spinning as soon as her feet hit the ground so that she was facing him once again.

"I got bored… anyway, did you say something about going out?"

He stared at her in shock for a few seconds more before a grin stretched across his face and shook his head in a, 'what you gonna do' way.

"Yes, we're going to the bank if you want to come, you can pick up your allowance while you're there, and it will get you out of the flat."

The allowance was something being granted to her by the police, or the British government or whatever, seeing as though she had no cards, and didn't really know who she was supposedly, so there was no way to get to any money she would have had before, and Sherlock was adamant that she wasn't allowed to get a job. Hell, she wasn't even allowed out of the building unless she had an escort.

Shaking those thoughts out of her head before she could become even more irritated, she simply reached for her jacket and strode towards the door, not needing to stop for shoes as she had been planning on trying to find the weak points in the surveillance on her today anyway. When she reached the door, she suddenly realised that the army doctor had not followed her there. Turning back, she found him in the exact spot where she had left him before. Tilting her head to the side slightly, she sent him a confused look.

"You coming John? Or are you content to stand there and stare at my chair all day?"

It took a second for him to come out of his thoughts, but when the words finally registered, he only laughed and shook his head slightly, despite his grin. Before long, they were stood in the corridor at the base of the stairs up to the entrance while Valkyrie locked the door to her flat behind them.

"You know, you're a lot like Sherlock. I've just started to realise that in the last few days. You both act the same way when you're bored."

That comment threw her for a moment as she tried to figure out how she should respond to the observation. Should she be happy to be compared to such a brilliant detective, or insulted that he thought she was like that little kid who sulked when he was bored?

"You know, I'm trying to figure out if that was some sort of back handed compliment, or an insult John."

She teased as they made their way up to the hall where there was a tall, blue clad figure waiting for them.

"I assure you Miss Cain, that that must have been a compliment. Now, if you two are done flirting, we must be off. Come along now."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Sherlock had been mulling over Sebastian's request for around half an hour before his flatmate had returned from the shopping empty handed, complaining about his cards and the horrors of the chip and pin machine. Deciding that that was about the limit of what he could endure at the moment, the detective pushed himself out of his chair and fired off a quick text to his old acquaintance one handed while he reached for his jacket with his other hand.

John must have been expecting something to happen then, as he was at Sherlock's heels the minute the taller man moved towards the door. Had he really been all that obvious with his impatience that the doctor had picked up on it? Well, it wasn't like he was an idiot, and the constant rendition of 'Bored!' must have been some type of clue… Still, his flat mate must be getting used to being with the consulting detective, he had learned not to ask where they were going at least.

Halfway down the stairs towards the front door, he was struck with an idea that made a large grin stretch across his face and he turned to face the ex-soldier who was shifting uncomfortably on the step behind. The new position left them eye to eye for a change.

"Go and invite Miss Cain, John, I'm sure she must be close to breaking something now from boredom."

With that, he stalked towards the large front door while he watched his blogger sigh and turn to go down the stairs that led to the basement flat, but John stopped at the last second, swinging back to face him.

"Fine but, where are we going?"

Okay, so he hadn't learned not to ask that question yet. Oh well, it was still early days.

"Bank."

With that, the shorter man carried on down the stairs after throwing him one of the most concerned looks he had ever seen on John's face. Really, was it so out of character for him to go to the bank? He did use money after all, though it probably wasn't a normal occurrence to make an outing of it was it? Well, this was for a case, and a chance to see the girl react to their life style, even if he didn't expect her to be overwhelmed, her reaction would still be entertaining.

It took a few minutes for the two of them to make their way back up to the hallway he stood in, and, amusingly, John seemed to think that the girl was like him in some ways. That was true, he had noticed small bits of it himself while observing her earlier, but what was entertaining was watching her face. Obviously she did not know how to take that comment.

5 minutes later, they were sat in the back of a cab on the way to the Bank and Sherlock was able to settle back into his thoughts while the other two nattered away in the background. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept a constant watch on the girl, cataloguing all her movements and habits so that he could decide what to make of her later.

So far, all assumptions he had made about her had seemed off the mark, but not completely so. She was not secret service, or, not part of the British intelligence at any rate. Mycroft had actually had to research her himself which was also new.

Apparently, the girl was from Haggard, a small village not all that far from Dublin, where she lived with her parents, an older brother and her little sister named Allison until they had died in a car accident about a year ago when she had moved in with her fiancé, though no name could be found for him yet. She had been a good student, despite the impressive number of detentions, finishing school a full year before she should have, though that may have been more from her habit of irritating the teaching staff by correcting them constantly than anything else. Even then, she had passed the exams with flying colours.

She was a archer. He wasn't sure how he had missed that to be honest, now, whenever he looked at her hands he could see that calluses from the string as clear as day. It would also explain why she was so sure about her accuracy. If there was anything that you needed to be a good shooter, it was to be able to aim properly, something she clearly had.

Despite having found all this however, when the girl had gone missing was not something they had been able to find. Between them, they had briefly discussed sending her home, but, when the fiancé could not be found and no other address was forthcoming, they decided that it would be best to keep her where they could keep an eye on her. Her puzzle was far too interesting to let go of, and there was also the threat of Moriarty hanging over her as well…

Irritatingly, the taxi decided to pull up outside the ostentatious building before he could deduce any more from her than what he already knew and they were forced back into the bustling streets of London to be surrounded by the dull masses. Ignoring the splutters of surprise from John and the faint laughter from Stephanie, he walked them both into the bank of England and up to the correct floor where they were made to wait inside the overly priced office for the banker to arrive.

"Sherlock! Can hardly believe it's been 8 years since I last clapped eyes on you!"

As always, Sebastian was far too enthusiastic, and fake, but the pleasantries passed the way that he had been expecting them to, well, until it was time for him to introduce the others. It stung a little when John corrected him for saying 'friend' instead of 'colleague' but it wasn't until he got to Miss Cain that he was completely stumped. What exactly was she to him?

Hardly missing a beat, Stephanie smiled sweetly up at the banker and stepped a little closer to Sherlock before she spoke. He noticed that this was the second time she had done so since Sebastian had entered the room. Something about him was making her nervous, obviously.

"Hi, I'm Stephanie." She started in a light, happy tone, offering him a hand to shake, which he took politely. "I'm this brat's girlfriend!"

Wait… what?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Watching the shocked face of the consulting detective on his screen, James Moriarty couldn't help but laugh. The poor man looked so lost it was unbelievable, and highly entertaining.

The reason behind her actions was obvious for anyone that was actually looking. The banker they had gone to visit was not well known for his morals, what with being a smuggler and in the middle of having an affair with his secretary, and the way he kept looking Stephanie over was enough to tell his thoughts. Still, it was amusing that she chose to cling to the detective rather than the doctor, though the consulting detective had to admit, this way was much more amusing.

Sitting back, he settled down to watching the detective try and fake being in a relationship with the poor girl while hiding his discomfort at the situation. At one point, Jim even seriously considered phoning Moran to fetch some popcorn, especially when little Stephanie made Sherlock go bright red when she kissed him on the cheek.

Yes. He was really beginning to like this girl, especially her sense of style.


End file.
